The Winter Solstice
by markovgirl
Summary: Written for Gutter City Tomione Convention's Winter Challenge 2013. 'The Sun didn't shine brightly the day Tom Riddle came back.'
1. 22nd December

Written for 'The Winter Solstice' Challenge for Gutter City Tomione Convention.

Enjoy.

They had been on the run for over four months. It had been two weeks since Ron left. They had one horcrux with them. It was December twenty second. It was ten o'clock in the evening. Nothing made sense to Hermione anymore unless she categorized it logically. Her memories had become far more organized as of late, a mental file cabinet, it allowed her to keep a small amount of control in her currently insane life. Hermione Granger was used to order, predictability, sense and reason. Since Voldemort's rise to power nothing had gone her way - everything was backwards. She should be at home, sitting in her cosy little house with her parents, stuffing her face full of Quality Street and falling asleep under their twinkling Christmas tree near the fireplace. Instead, she was stuck in the middle of a foggy moor, surrounded by huge, crumbling boulders and mysterious noises that forced a shudder down her spine every time she heard them. She was currently sitting at a small table in the main section of their over-sized tent, having just finished another awful dinner of mushy vegetable soup, now pouring over a book with tired eyes. Sleep was rare during their travels, there was no set pattern to when they might get rest, they just had to sleep when they were able, day or night. Harry was mostly vacant these days, he spent the majority of his time huddled on his bed in the cordoned off sleeping area of the tent, eyes empty of everything but pain. They barely spoke to each other, only communicating when they needed to exchange that damn horcrux. The beautiful, emerald encrusted locket was hanging around Harry's neck at present, as it had been since the previous evening. _Blasted thing! _The effect it had on the pair only heightened the tension created by Ron's departure and their helpless situation in the general scheme of the Wizarding War. She'd spent so long trying to work out how to destroy it, but nothing was working - it was beginning to make her doubt her intelligence. The locket seemed to have sensed her weakness, she noticed, and recently whenever she had worn it those doubts had intensified tenfold. Yesterday, during her horcrux-stint, she'd found a single word in a text book that she didn't understand. Suddenly, panic alighted in her mind and every word on the page looked foreign to her. Sentences blurred into streams of running ink that she couldn't fathom, her mind grew frustrated and she'd thrown the tome onto the floor with an exasperated cry.

Hermione shivered at the memory, slumping back into the camping chair with a deep sigh. Most of the time the horcrux just made her feel drained, lifeless, that moment had been a peculiar exception. She tilted the chair back onto its rear legs, propping her feet on the table to keep her balance. From this position she could see outside, through the open flap of the tent. It was dark, almost pitch black outside. Strange, she couldn't remember a time today when there had been light - dawn and dusk had never appeared, it was just the same dull darkness that hung over the landscape. _Of course. _It was the twenty-second today, it must be the Winter Solstice._ Shortest day, longest night - how very apt._ The last time she had witnessed this, it had been with her Father. They had taken a trip together to watch the dusk from Stonehenge, her Father spouting myths and legends about random pieces of history. She had been too kind to tell him she had read all of his stories before. With another sigh, she tipped her chair forward and swung herself up onto her feet, heading towards the tent door. The cold hit her face immediately, sending her teeth chattering in her head. The view before her was still covered in the usual thick, white smog that skewered most things from clear sight. The only thing Hermione found herself comforted by was the sky - a velvet black blanket pin-pricked with glittering stars. It had a strange, shimmering sheen to it, and it cast a ghostly pale light across the rocks of the moor. From her point in the tent, she could see various outlines in the darkness, vast stone giants just visible in the glow. It was abnormally quiet, the only sounds were the occasional rustling of leaves, or gentle hum of the wind. It would have been eerie, had she not been so relived to be alone and safe in the wilderness. She turned away from the scene, pulling the flap shut behind her to keep the cold out.

Harry looked up from his position on the bed as she entered the room, his tired green eyes surveying her wearily. He moved his hands up to his neck and unclipped the locket, clutching the chain in his fist and holding it towards her, shakily.

"Sorry, Hermione. I don't think I can take any more of this tonight," he sighed. "The actual Volde- _idiot_ has been slinking around my head all day, I don't think I can handle mini-Mort as well. Please, I promise I'll go and keep watch outside until morning so you can get some rest - you've been up for an awfully long time."

"Harry I-"

"Come on, 'Mione, please?" he said, taking off his spectacles to wipe the dirt from them.

She didn't want to, not at all, that thing hung around her neck like a lead weight. But she knew that horcrux affected Harry far more intensely than it did her, so she merely smiled reassuringly, held out her hand and let him drop the locket gently into her palm. Immediately, a heavy feeling dropped in her stomach, as if she had swallowed one of the tors from out on the moor. She had felt this hundreds of times before, but never gotten used to it, that feeling of utter desolation and dread, like something bad was just around the corner. Winding the chain around her neck, she turned from Harry and sat down on her bed.

"Sure thing, Harry. Sorry for being such a bother, I - I just get scared for you out there on your own," she replied, laying her head down on the pillow.

Harry smiled at her and moved from his bed to kneel beside her, placing his hand over hers and patting it gently. "I can take care of myself, 'Mione. Just try and get some sleep, it's easier than being awake with that thing on. I'll be just outside," he paused and ran a hand through his dark hair, another tired smile gracing his features. "Need a bit of fresh air, you know?"

Hermione nodded with a smile, eyes flickering briefly to his burning scar. "There's some stew left in the pot on the stove for you, if you fancy it. Sorry, it's just root vegetables aga-"

"I'd love it, thanks Hermione," he said, squeezing her hand gently.

"Liar," she replied, a grin spreading across both their faces, simultaneously. A bright witch she might be, but her cooking skills were far from enviable. The pair had grown scrawnier than ever before in the past months thanks to their diet of vegetable stock and barely-cooked potatoes. Harry let out a light laugh, pushed himself away from the bed and strolled out of the bedroom towards the main living area, leaving her alone. She could hear Harry clattering around in the kitchen, preparing himself the foul slop she had made, which brought a small smile to her lips. The girl swung her legs up onto the camp bed and laid her head back against the hard pillow, slowly clasping her fingers around the locket. It was a heavy trinket, a weighty precious metal that felt like an block of ice to the touch. She brought it up to her eye line, admiring the intricate, sparkling design that had been carefully inlayed into the golden frontage. It really would have been quite desirable, had it not contained the soul of their foul nemesis. A grimace crossed her face - how could one possibly begin to split their soul? What would drive a man to think that a horcrux could ever be a good thing?

She let go of the necklace and let it fall back against her chest with a small thud, proceeding to draw the winter blankets up around her chest. Warmth spread over at last, as she snuggled deeper into the bed - she almost felt comfort, a feeling she hadn't felt for a long, long time. Maybe she was beginning to get used to the effect of the locket, it didn't seem to be affecting her at all tonight. She was fast asleep by the time the locket began to shake and turn an ugly black colour around her neck. The door of the necklace sprang open, revealing a dark, handsome, living eye, that swirled frantically in its golden socket.

_It was a strange room, familiar in a sense, but also drastically alien. She felt as if she had been here before. It was an large room from what she could tell, with a stone fireplace in one corner and a large ebony desk a few feet in front of her. The majority of the space in the room was cluttered with bizarre items - a glass cabinet stood nearby, encasing a wrinkled human hand, an oddly still and watery looking glass eye and a pack of cards, flecked with dried blood. Strange instruments bearing spikes and chains hung from the ceiling, as well as a hangman's rope, that she pushed aside as she walked closer to the desk. A number of human and animal bones lay scattered on the counter - all in all, this was not a friendly looking wizarding shop. The clock on the wall read five o'clock. Odd, she thought, as it was so dark outside. _

"_Hello? Anybody home?" she called out, trying not to make eye contact with a disturbing looking mask that hung on the wall in front of her. _

"_Hello?" a voice rang out from behind her. She didn't recognize the tone; velvety, deep and polite, so she turned to uncover the identity of the mysterious stranger. A man of around twenty stood a few feet away from her, near the entrance to the shop, holding a tray laden with biscuits, teacups and a large, steaming teapot. He looked odd, old-fashioned almost, wearing dark dress trousers, a dark green shirt and brown shoes. The shirt was pushed up around his elbows, as if he had been engaging in something physical not long before her arrival. His pale, but handsome features were framed by jet black curls, which matched his strangely dark eyes. He smiled at her politely, though she was greeted by a feeling of unease - those big dark eyes and just a little too much teeth in the smile reminded her of a shark, primed for attack. "May I help you, Miss?" he asked, moving past her to place the tea tray on the wooden desk. She turned back to face him, cocking an eyebrow as he sat down behind the desk and began to pour himself a large cup of what smelt like Earl Grey. _

"_Yes," she began, voice hesitant. "I was wondering, um, where am I?"_

_The man chuckled and motioned to the fireplace. "Got yourself in the wrong place?" It was a question, but he delivered it almost like a statement of fact . _

_Hermione shrugged slightly. Actually, how had she gotten here? And where had she been? _

"_Well, you're in Borgin and Burke's, just off of Knockturn Alley," he replied, placing the oversized teapot back down on the table and brushing off his hands. She noticed how long and pale his fingers were - oddly familiar. Everything here was oddly familiar. "I'm guessing a nice girl like you was aiming for Diagon Alley. Don't fret, it happens all the time-" The man paused, taking in her confused expression for a moment. "Are you quite alright? If you don't mind me saying, you look awfully pale."_

"_I'm just-" she began, raising her hands to touch the skin of her neck. It was gone! The locket was gone! Frantically she starting looking around the shop, ducking behind exhibits and cabinets, eyes wide and panicked. _

"_Are you okay?" the man's voice called from the desk. _

"_I've lost my necklace, it's very, very important to me!" she called back, kneeling down to look underneath a strange chest of drawers that appeared to be made of snake-skin, and had legs that still moved like a living serpent. Where was it? She turned back round to be greeted by the sight of the man's trouser-clad kneecaps. The sudden shock made her jump, causing her to fall backwards and smack her head against the snake chest. The man smiled down at her, and again that feeling of unease pricked her mind, as his hand moved to his pocket. He removed a sparkling golden and green locket and held it up to his face with a smirk. _

"_Yes, that's it! Thank you so much!" she cried out, reaching a hand up to him, expectantly. The man remained still, just eerily smiling at her. "Um, might I have my locket back, please?"_

"_Your locket?" he replied, placing said item back into his trouser pocket. "It's not yours, it's mine."_

"_No, listen, I really need that lock-"_

_The man hoisted her off the floor by her collar with unnatural strength, smashing her back against another display cabinet. Her head hit the wooden surface roughly, causing her to see stars, when suddenly she felt the cold grip of those long, pale fingers around her throat. As her vision adjusted once more, she saw the dark-eyed male looking back at her with cruel glee etched in his features. "No, you listen. That locket is more mine than anyone else's. It belongs to my family, to me, and I want to know where you got it!" he snapped, squeezing down softly on her skin. _

_Hermione's fingers scrabbled against his grip, her little nails scratching into his skin. He didn't even wince. "I-I...came by it!" she gasped, kicking her legs up at him. He dodged the blows and pressed his body further forward into hers, pinning her still. A cold smirk was still present on his face. _

"_You 'came by it', and how did you 'come by it'?" he mocked, mimicking her voice, childishly. Hermione's cheeks grew red with anger, and she pushed her hands against his chest firmly to get him away. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be made of solid rock, and didn't move an inch. "Calm down. Answer me and I will let you go. Don't lie, thief."_

"_..took it...from a cave!" she wheezed through his grip. Something inside her told her to tell the truth, this male seemed to know more about the locket than she, perhaps if she could get him on her side she might find a way to destroy it. The man tensed, though his grip on her throat loosened. _

"_How did you manage that?" he asked, staring at her in amazement. His hand left her throat and she gasped in air, relief washing over her. This feeling soon left when she saw him raise his wand towards her forehead. "Who are you?"_

"_My name is Hermione."_

"_Hermione what?"_

"_Granger."_

"_Witch, or-?"_

"_Witch, and a jolly good one, I'll have you know!" she snapped back, crossing her arms indignantly. _

_The man snorted. "Amusing, really, Miss Granger. Do you know what this is?" he asked, thrusting the locket back into view. _

_She hesitated, her hand secretly moving to grip her own wand. "A horcrux."_

_The man's face contorted with rage, but he managed to keep his body composed. "And who am I?"_

_Hermione didn't reply at first, though she had realized the answer minutes ago. _

"_Tom Riddle," she said. _

"_Voldemort," he said, simultaneously. _

_Calmly, Tom lowered his wand and moved back towards the desk, eyes never leaving her form. "And you know me as Tom, strange - strange for someone who knows about my horcruxes, anyhow. My followers all call me by my true name. What brings you here, to me?"_

"_That, I do not know. I just-" she paused, thinking back. She'd been in a tent...with Harry - Harry! Of course, they were finding a way to destroy the remaining pieces of soul - she made a mental note not to inform the man in front of her about this part. "I just fell asleep, wearing that bloody thing." _

"_I see. So, I fathom you're-" _

"_From a different time, yes." _

_Tom smiled, leaning back against the desk. "You don't seem that afraid of me."_

"_I'm only dreaming, there's nothing to be afraid of," she replied, nonchalantly. _

"_Of course not," he said, grin spreading even wider. She had the sinking feeling he knew something she did not. "Well, what an exciting dream this must be." _

_Hermione rolled her eyes, refolding her arms across her chest. "No, actually, for a Dark Lord, you aren't half boring." _

_Tom's gaze grew darker, more uncomfortable to be the focus of. "Then why don't we do something a little less boring?" he asked, raising his arms to his sides in an open gesture. Hermione raised an eyebrow. _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I mean, you're the one dreaming of me. I'm the dream-boy. Man of your dreams-"_

"_Oh come on, Tom," she snapped, irritated by his childishness. _

_His grin widened even further, if possible, leering at her like a Cheshire Cat. "Don't call me Tom," he said, in an overly friendly tone. Pushing himself from the desk, he stalked a little closer to Hermione, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know, I've been in - I mean, I'm currently in your head, darling. You've given me a thousand visions of what we could do." Hermione scoffed and glared at him. "You really don't know how to have fun, do you?"_

"_I do know how to have 'fun', Riddle! I just don't want to have 'fun' with you!" she hissed back at him. _

"_So, you just want to sit down and drink tea for the duration of this dream, then?" he asked, moving closer, too close to her. "Because, I don't know how long this is going to be."_

"_I-" she was cut off when his hand moved to drag a finger slowly down the side of her neck, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine. The finger began tracing small circles over her collarbone, eliciting more wonderful sensations to erupt over her skin. _

"_I remember that one from a dream you had a month ago. Some idiotic red-head was doing it to you," he leant in to whisper, "I guarantee I'll do it better."_

_Hermione shuddered again as his beautiful face leaned in very close to her own. How was she dreaming of Tom Riddle, she never even seen him before? Perhaps she was envisaging a random gorgeous male and because of recent events Voldemort had accidentally seeped into the dream through her subconscious? That must be it. Nothing made sense in dreams, why should this one stand out as so peculiar. Perhaps it was the sense of reality that was giving her such a bad feeling about all this. How had he known about her other dreams of Ron? It was all a little...odd. The only thought left in her mind when his cheek slid very close to hers as his lips ghosted her ear was 'Bugger it! It's only a dream, what's the worst that can happen?'_

_Tom pressed his mouth gently to her ear, pulling back an inch to whisper, "I saw that too. I know what makes you moan, Hermione, I know what'll make you break."_

_Slowly, he moved and gently pressed his lips upon hers. They were soft, though cold. At first he was tentative, caring, lips caressing her own like a lover might. She wasn't quite sure of what to do at first, she just stood perfectly still, shocked. He was so soft, beautiful...she couldn't help but open her mouth and shyly kiss him back. The taste was wonderful, something rich, like honey, or wine. When he felt her begin to respond his tempo changed, from caring to rough, lips moving faster, tongue probing her mouth and his teeth biting down on her bottom lip. She let out a small moan and he pulled back, moving lower to place mind-blowingly wonderful kisses against the skin of her throat. Suddenly the room felt all too warm for Hermione._

_His hands slid down her shoulders and came to rest on her hands, his fingers lacing through hers, pulling away from the intense kiss at last. She looked up at him dazed, before he pulled at her, forcing her to bump into him, then twirling her around to tug her back against his chest. The man pulled them both backwards slightly, so he was once again leaning against the counter, with Hermione situated between his legs. The girl tensed when his hand gently ruffled through the back of her bushy hair. _

"_This is all a dream, right?" she asked. A cry of pain left her lips when he gripped down hard on the curls in his hand and pulled her back tightly against him. _

"_A smart girl like you should realize that this is all a dream. Dreams mean nothing, right? No-one will know," he hissed, sharply. Hermione nodded as best she could under his tight grip. "I thought you liked your hair pulled?" he asked, tugging again and smiling widely when she let out an anguished cry. _

"_I d-do!" she stammered. She was still fairly uncomfortable with the situation that had escalated so quickly between them - but dreams weren't stable, or progressive were they? They were uncontrollable and unpredictable._

"_Let yourself go, Hermione," she heard Tom whisper, his velvet tones breaking through her reserve. When her back arched slightly to tug at her own hair, he smiled, realizing her acceptance. "Good girl."_

_It was definitely a dream, how else would one man know so many of her turn ons? Tom's hands pried her jumper and shirt from her waistband and tore them over her head, casting them aside, out of view. His lips pressed to the back of her neck, causing a small moan to leave her mouth. His hands roamed the bare skin of her stomach, then moved to trace the swell of her breasts. He stroked that area softly for a moment, before reaching to her back to remove her bra. The clasp proved irritatingly difficult for him to remove, however, causing a frustrated growl to come from his chest. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and every remaining piece of clothing disappeared from her body, leaving her bared for his touch. She felt him smile into the back of her neck, as his hands crawled upwards towards her breasts. A finger slid over the sensitive skin underneath her breasts, causing her to buck her hips back into him, closing her eyes in satisfaction. His fingers stroked their way to her nipples, swirling around each bud, hardening them with the pleasurable touch. Hermione let out a gasp and tried to turn to him, wanting to feel his bare skin on her own, but he clenched his legs tighter around her, forbidding her from doing so with a tut. _

"_Not so fast, little witch. Your dream boys should learn to take things slow. It's the only way to build your energy, to make a connection between partners, don't you think?" he whispered, kissing her ear gently. Hermione was too interested in the hands on her breasts to really listen, so she merely stopped her turn and stood still in his arms, allowing him to continue. _

_One hand ceased touching her breast and moved down her stomach, inching towards her sex at an agonizingly slow rate. She let out a cry and ground her hips back into him, feeling his hardness against her backside. All she wanted was for him to touch her, no she needed him to touch her! Now! Just as his hand almost reached her, he paused and chuckled darkly behind her. _

"_What do you want, Hermione?" he asked, innocently, plucking the nipple still in his fingers roughly. The girl shuddered, unable to speak. She had never been a dirty talker at the best of times, even in her own dreams, sex was fairly moderate. Nothing like this, nothing this deliciously dangerous. All because of him. His fingers pinched her nipple harder, this time not letting go and forcing a cry from Hermione. "I said, tell me what you want. Or, do you want nothing?" _

"_N-no! I want," she breathed, trying to arch away from his painful touch. "I want you to touch me."_

"_Tsk tsk, not good enough, Granger. An Acceptable at best. Try harder."_

"_I don't kn-"_

"_Tell me where, tell me how hard, how long, which hole, with or without teeth - use your imagination, for once," he laughed, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. _

"_I, um, I want you to touch my - god, do I really have to say?" she groaned, cheeks reddening. _

_Tom sighed, letting go of her nipple. "You can say it, and have it your way, or let me do what I want, though I can't guarantee you'll enjoy all of it," he said, stroking her sore breast gently. _

_Hermione squirmed, unsure. "I won't enjoy what?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. _

"_Being caned whilst sucking me off, followed by being gagged, bound, thrown over this desk and painfully fucked in the ars-" _

"_Okay okay, we'll do it my way!" she replied, hastily. Hearing these things was all the more disconcerting as she couldn't actually see him from this position._

"_Fine, but my turn next time. Now, carry on."_

_Hermione gulped, trying to form half coherent sentences, face blushing a deep shade of crimson. "I want you to, uh, reach down and run your hands over my...um.."_

"_Cunt?" he asked, running his hand back over her stomach, playfully pinching her other nipple with his free hand. _

"_Yes!" she said, jumping at the sudden pressure on her breast. He followed her actions as she spoke them, fingers beginning to gently touch her sex. A little moan left her."Now uh, start to touch my...my clitoris. And, would you mind pulling my hair and kissing my neck a little more?" _

_Tom smiled and moved his hand from her chest back into her mane of hair, tugging the strands forcefully. He exposed her neck to one side and began running his tongue along the skin there. "Why, it would be my pleasure." He moved the hand on her cunt to her mouth and forced his fingers between her surprised lips. "Get them wet, darling, or this might hurt." Eagerly, she complied and swept her tongue up and around his fingers, thoroughly wetting them. Satisfied, he moved his hand back down to her clit and circled it slowly. "Am I doing it right?" he mocked, feeling her arch against him, shuddering. _

"_Y-yes!" she cried out. He teased her sex, constantly bringing her close to orgasm with quick, unrelenting fingers, then slowing down or removing them altogether when she began to come. He repeated this motion several times, whilst simultaneously biting down upon her neck and alternating between grabbing her hair and playing with her breasts. The girl was near incoherent, begging him to let her come, trying to press herself harder into his fingers. After a while, her writhing against his cock became nearly impossible to take and he started to grow impatient, finally ceasing his actions to whirl the panting girl around to face him, yanking her head forward to capture her in a kiss. A fine sheen of sweat had formed all over her body from his ministrations, he could feel her body tense and shaking under his arms. _

"_You want to come, darling?" he asked, through his bruising kisses. As she moaned into his mouth, he wordlessly reached into his pocket and retrieved the locket he had taken from her. He pinched the two ends of the chain between his fingertips and, in the guise of wrapping his arms around her neck, hooked the locket back onto her. Immediately, he turned them both around and waved his hand at the desk, sending the items upon it crashing to the ground from a sweep of magic. Tom pushed the girl front first over the desk and reached down to start undoing his belt. He pushed down his trousers and underwear hurriedly and held his cock in his hand, running it gently over her dripping cunt. "Tell me, Hermione. Tell me what you want," he breathed, self-control breaking as he spoke. The girl turned over to face him and shuffled back on the countertop, pulling him by his stiff shirt collar onto the desk to join her. She wriggled underneath him, placing him between her legs and ran her hands up through his neat hair, ruffling the curls into a dark mess. _

"_I want you to f-fuck me, Riddle. Hard as you like," she replied, breathlessly. He didn't need telling twice, and thrust into her roughly, groaning as her wet cunt surrounded him blissfully. With his hands placed on either side of her head, he sunk down onto his forearms, wanting to place his lips against hers once more. His strokes were hard, as hard as she had imagined them to be, and deep enough to hurt slightly. It worried her slightly that the pain made her wetter, made her closer to coming. "Oh god, fuck, T-Tom, I'm going to-"_

"_No!" he growled, one hand moving to encase her neck. "Not yet. Hold it." Hermione whimpered, but tried her best to stave off the impending orgasm, concentrating on her breathing rather than the overwhelming pleasure. Tom smirked, kissing her forehead as he thrust into her particularly hard. "Good girl."_

"_Please, fuck, no, Tom I can't hold on, I really can't!" she panted, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt as if holding on for dear life. In a spurt of madness, she dragged her fist down the shirt, popping each button from it hole and leaving his superb chest open to her viewing pleasure. She ran her hands down it greedily, fingernails digging into his pectorals and leaving tiny crescent shaped marks in their man snarled and sat up slightly, gripping her thighs in his hands and hoisting her legs onto his shoulders. With her body at this angle, he now began fucking her cruelly, relentlessly hard, hitting her in the right place constantly. Through her foggy vision she could still see his beauty - his body was primal looking, lean but muscular, constantly tense as if he were ready to attack. His face was carved, chiseled, angular in its perfection. But it was his sparkling, black eyes that sent a shiver down her spine - they emitting such raw power, such devastating charm, that she couldn't help feeling in awe of him. He was everywhere, smothering her skin, forcing his way into her mind, biting down hard on her neck until she felt the skin break under his straight teeth. He drew back to look at her and smiled, her blood slathered over his lips and chin like some perverse, beautiful vampire-_

"_Fuck, come Hermione, come right now," he demanded, feeling himself tip over the edge. As her sex began to clench rhythmically around him, her face twisted into a look of pained pleasure, mouth hanging open, eyes tightly screwed shut. She heard him hissing something in Parseltongue above her, uncertain of his words, assuming that they were simply an indication of his orgasm. He shuddered as he came inside of her, resting back down on his forearms, with his head nestled in her neck. For a brief moment, there was nothing but their satiated gasps, which grew slower and slower, until their normal breathing pattern resumed and their hearts stopped pounding at a manic rate. _

Only after this pause, did Hermione notice something different - the room was colder, the desk she had been lying on was softer, the atmosphere felt less busy around them. She opened her eyes at last to see the ceiling of the tent above her. A sigh left her and she rubbed the sweat from her face. _Was all a dream. I knew it. _A deep groan pulled her from her peace, and horrified she realized there was still a weight against her chest. She looked down to see a smug, young, beautiful Tom Riddle still lying on top of her. She froze as he crawled up her body, placing a very hard, very real kiss against her lips. The metallic tang of her blood was still present in his saliva.

"No, no, no!" she shouted, pushing against his chest. "You can't be here - I'm still dreaming!"

"'I'm afraid not, Hermione," he said, smirk firmly in place. He rolled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers and trousers back into place and running his hands through his hair, setting it back into place. "Thanks for the ride."

"W-what...how-" she stammered. He stood to face her, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the tent.

"I've been working my way into your head for months, every since you first put Slytherin's Locket round that delightfully love-bitten neck of yours," he said, chuckling as she touched her neck only to flinch at the feel of the open wound he had left. "You see, much in the same way that my seventeen year-old horcrux attempted to take the life-force from the Weasley girl, the locket stole its energy from you. But, I couldn't have taken it it one go without Potter noticing, and I could hardly come back into existence only to run into another killing curse, could I? So," he paused, a smile stretching across his lips at the shocked on her face. "I did it slowly. Remember all those times you felt weary and worried and _ever so tired -_ all I needed was the physical contact from the locket on your delicious skin. I almost had enough power, but I had to wait, until tonight, until the darkest night, to take my final dose from you. Taboo, dark, debauched magic comes to its peak during the Solstices, as you probably already know. However, I wasn't counting on you falling asleep when the Solstice was at its peak, but when you did...I thought it might be _fun _to meet you. It was rather easy, I've been in your head for so long, you see. I would just set up a little scene in my old place of work, play the dream boy with no clue how you came to be, and then..."

"What?" she snapped, glaring at him, furiously. "Then what?"

The smile drew up at one corner. "Fuck the energy out of you. Don't look so confused, little witch, read darker books for a change, you may find some of the magic in there to be quite illuminating. Sex magic, blood magic, souls and death and demons - all can be used to one's advantage if they only give in to temptation and try. You were seeping with so much raw energy when you came - which was just fucking _perfect_, by the way - that I ended up taking full form sooner than expected. I had thought it may take at least one more go before I had collected enough power from you. Bit of a shame, really, you really are a decent fuck - for a Mudblood. I should have just done that to start with, the whole process would have gone a lot faster. Other 'me' barely had time to get rid of himself before I appeared and-"

"What on earth are you talking about, Riddle?" Hermione shouted, utterly lost in his tirade. Harry had been right when he'd said Riddle rambled. For now she listened only to understand how he came to be.

"I mean, Hermione - do you think I would allow two versions of myself to run around? I'm no fool. Horcruxes act in strange ways, darling, each piece of soul can communicate to some extent. I knew I was able to come back, better than that vile snake-like thing I had become. I was able to come back as this," he gestured to his body with a flourish of his long fingers. "Forgive me for my vanity Hermione, but I know you appreciate that my charms are much easier to work with a pretty face. I'm stronger, better. The best."

"What does that have to do with Voldemo- the other you?" she asked, still confused.

"It means, that body recently burnt away into dust. Why? Because I wished it done. The piece of soul left over entered a new item, became another horcrux - leaving way for one Dark Lord, one physically superior Dark Lord, to rule."

Hermione's gasp of horror was interrupted by shouts coming from the main room. _Harry. _

"Hermione! I heard it on the radio, Hermione - he's dead! He's dead, his body was completely burnt up! No-one knows how, he just caught fire, hah! I guess horcruxes were a pile of rub-" her friend shouted, happily, running into the bedroom. As he entered the room, he instantly froze, letting out a yell as his forehead stung violently. "Hermione what's going on, you okay?"

His eyes quickly settled on the man standing in the room with them. He looked a little different from the last time he had seen him in this human form, older, more hollowed out cheeks, slightly longer hair - still handsome, pale, charismatic. And smirking, as usual. A little different, yes, but still entirely recognizable. _Tom Riddle. _"What are you doing here?" he asked, confusion tinting his tone.

"Harry?" Hermione said, catching his attention. The bespectacled boy turned to face her, shock plastered over his face. From the corner of her eye she saw Tom raising his pale, yew wand towards her friend - not quick enough to beat her own movement, however. She flicked her wand towards Harry, shouting apologies at him as she did, sending him into forced apparition, his figure disappearing from sight just as Tom's green killing curse smashed into the place he had been standing. Relief washed over her - Harry was safe, he was the one the world needed, not her. She had unknowingly brought an invigorated, young Dark Lord back into the world, Harry shouldn't die because of that. She could quite happily meet Death knowing she had saved her friend, that she had given him another chance to kill Voldemort once and for all. The girl let out a breathy laugh and turned to face Riddle, blood pounding in her ears. He was positively fuming, that usually pale face was tinged with red, his eyes were wide with rage and a hint of...surprise? Hermione laughed again, even as his wand raised towards her. Then, there was silence between them for a long stretch of time. The redness in Tom's face had calmed by the time one of them spoke.

"Just get it over with, Riddle," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms.

"Get what over with?" he replied. That irritating smirk was back. The day Harry wiped that mouth from the Earth couldn't come soon enough.

"There's no point in fighting you, Harry's safe - just kill me."

"What makes you think I want to do that?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Fine!" she shouted, flicking her wand towards him, sending a simple stunner straight inot his chest. He jolted slightly, not expecting her spell. "Do I actually have to provoke you to do it?"

"You know I like a fighter, Hermione," he said, crudely winking at her. With an angry shout, she jumped down off the bed and sent a barrage of curses flying towards him, each once bouncing off his quickly erected shield. Through the haze of dust that was sent flying around the room, Hermione never saw him stride forwards, not until he grabbed her collar and pulled her very close to him, just as he had in her dream. She could feel his breath against her cheek, his lips very nearly touching her skin. "I'm not going to kill you, darling. You're much too precious for that."

"Then what? Torture me, you sick son of a troll-"

"I was thinking I might steal you."

A cold shiver ran down her spine. "W-why? I'm of no use to you anymore, Riddle."

"Mmm, I think you can be," he replied, pressing his lips gently to hers. She remained stock still, unresponsive. "Not only do you have a brilliant mind and a knowledge of Potter's world but, well, I believe it's my turn to have it my way."

Hermione's mouth gaped open in silent horror as she remembered his words from her dream and she felt the odd pressure of apparition push down around the two of them.

"_Though I can't guarantee you'll enjoy it." _


	2. 10th April

They had been hidden for over four months now. It had been two weeks since Hermione had last had any contact with any other human being than the twenty-year old Voldemort. It had been forever since she found a moment of peace. It was now April the tenth, eight o'clock in the evening. Ten minutes until he returned. Her stomach growled angrily at the thought of food.

After his resurrection within the enchanted tent on the Moors of England, Tom Riddle had disapparated them to a number of distant countries, a different one every two weeks, in order to avoid detection. During the first day of being together, in some strange hotel in Albania, they heard news of the War, broadcast over an old, crackling radio. The aforementioned news was astounding. The disintegration of Voldemort's previous body, thanks to the resurrection of the Locket, caused a victorious uproar amongst the ranks of the Light. Thinking they no longer had an invincible figure at the head of their enemies, the Order and its allies had forced the stunned Death-Eaters into submission and were beginning to take control once again. The Ministry was running smoothly, no more Anti-Muggleborn propaganda was being funneled into the media and students were even returning to Hogwarts under the supervision of the new Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. No-one realised that Voldemort's consciousness had merely switched bodies, that he lived and breathed amongst them, but frankly, no-one seemed to care. It only took the image of the snake-faced villain burning up into a funnel of ash for the Light to gain their morale, to realize that not even Voldemort was immortal. Hermione remembered that broadcast vividly, the way Tom had slammed his fists against the wall and screamed in a rage, his curls writhing out of their usual perfection, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet. She, on the other hand, had grinned widely from her position on the bed. Even though she was in a room with a madman, even though her wrists and ankles were magically bound together, she grinned. Until -

_We regret to announce that our Hero, the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, was killed in the crossfire during the Battle for the Ministry. Mr Potter, upon apparating into the Department of Mysteries, was hit immediately by a stray killing curse..._

Hermione swallowed down her guilt thinking back to that announcement. How Tom had turned and, even in his fury, managed to heap the blame onto her, to make her feel evil. She had just sat there, bound on the bed he forced her to share with him, crying silently as Riddle hurled curses around the room. Obviously, she had never meant to kill Harry, but she forced him into apparition, she sent him to his death. Every day she had to remind herself that without that sacrifice, Harry might have told the Order of Tom's existence, that the Light might not have succeeded if they knew a younger, stronger Voldemort was still alive. With his Death Eaters all locked away, or dead, Tom Riddle had no-one to turn to, no-one to rely upon to come to his aid. He may have been a powerful wizard, but he still required his armies. An unfortunate side-effect of Harry's death was that no-one was looking for her: the moment she heard her own name read out over the radio amongst the list of the dead was one of the worst. Tom had turned to smirk at her, triumph written all over his face. A paltry victory, she had reminded him, they were both dead in the eyes of the public. She had certainly suffered for that comment. Strangely, he hadn't hurt her physically, he never raised his wand, but hurled abuse at her non-stop for weeks.

Hermione sighed and leant back into the pillows behind her. So, this was her situation at present. Being hauled around after Tom Riddle Jr. as he attempted to accumulate new wizards to join his cause. He made sure they were covert at all times, they would stay in hotels, under different names each time, and wipe the memory of their time their to avoid detection and having to pay. Only he would venture out of their room, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, leaving Hermione stuck, alone, with very little to do. Naturally, he had confiscated her wand, and she couldn't muster enough strength to wandlessly break the wards he placed around the room, as hard as she tried. After five weeks of trying to escape, Hermione had given up hope. These days she found herself re-reading the hotel's obligatory Bible, a few of Dark Magic books that Tom occasionally left behind, and watching awful television to pass the time. At present they were in Dublin, in a luxurious establishment that was situated on a busy city road. Tom never took anything but the best; the suite they currently occupied was of the greatest luxury, a penthouse that overlooked Dublin's busy streets. It was a beautiful abode; a large sitting room was the main feature, decorated with black and white armchairs and a matching sofa, fluffy red carpets and a metallic, gas fireplace. It also contained a large dining table and a small, untouched kitchenette. Neither of them could cook well, so they tended to stick with room service whenever they could. Hermione never had the opportunity to call for anything when Tom was away, so she made sure to order more than necessary to provide for her solitary day times. One door from the living room led to a plush bathroom, with a fantastic jacuzzi that amused Hermione to no end. There had been a day where she had accidentally created a mountain of bubbles after adding too much soap to the jet stream - Tom hadn't been best pleased. The other door led to a bedroom, which held a big wardrobe, filled with the clothes they had picked up along their travels, a few armchairs and a single queen-sized bed. The whole place was opened up to the cityscape by one gargantuan pane of glass along on wall, giving them views that tumbled on for miles and miles.

Hermione was pacing the sitting room like a caged animal, stopping occasionally to look out of the panoramic window to the city below. Why couldn't these people see her? Why couldn't they just look up and come to her aid? She longed to be outside more than anything, to breathe cold, fresh air that wasn't created by air conditioning. The city lights glinted, sparkled, during the night-time. From their penthouse view it was almost as if the stars had mingled with the metropolis, there was no telling what was up and what was down, what was near and what was far: it was all just a twinkling mass that spiraled out beyond her reach. One of her fingers traced a dull white light; she couldn't work out if it was a star, or the distant flash of a phone-tower. How she longed to fly away, to be alive, to be Hermione again. She settled her palms and forehead against the cold glass, closing her eyes to enjoy the buzzing noise of the life below.

Her 'life' with Tom was odd. They barely saw each other, only once a day to meet at half past eight for dinner. During this time they barely spoke, he acted as if she didn't exist - not what she was expecting at all. She had imagined nights of screaming in pain, of blood and gore and misery but the reality was much quieter than that. They would eat, have a drink, then Tom would sit down in the armchair in front of the fireplace to read. Hermione always left him to it, there was no point or desire to disturb him - so she stayed in her spot at the head of the dining table, reading his old books and pouring herself multiple glasses of wine. She would always be the first to get drowsy, most likely a side-effect of the alcohol, and would head to bed first. Every night, she would be unable to sleep until she felt his weight sink down onto the duvet beside her. It was not that she craved his presence, quite the opposite - she was constantly afraid that if she fell asleep before him, that he would catch her unaware. She stayed awake to make sure he didn't try to do anything. But he never did, he would just fall asleep, quick as a wink, and lie, unmoving, for the entire night. He hadn't touched her unless it was to pull her into apparition, which was a relief, although a little perplexing. She was especially glad that he hadn't followed through with the threat that still rang so clearly in her mind, _'It's my turn'._ Hermione's mind still raged because of her idiotic actions - just a dream! Preposterous! She blamed herself for being overcome by stupid suggestions and lust. It was entirely her fault that Tom was able to stand before her in the body he did, there was no-one else to blame.

Each morning she would awaken to find the other side of the bed empty, neatly made without a single crease. He left no notes, no food, no indication of when he might return. Another lonely day - not that she wanted his company. The clothes they had available to them were sparse. During their brief stint in Moscow, Tom had brought back a big bag of items for her, simple shirts, trousers, jumpers and the like. It was that moment she had realised that he didn't plan on getting rid of her for quite some time.

A loud bang brought her from her thoughts - Tom must be back, and from the way he slammed the door, he wasn't in an excellent mood. Hermione sighed and pushed herself away from the window, before turning slowly to view her captor. He was still as beautiful as ever, all dark eyes and hair, pale skin and sharp lines. Today he wore a white button up, covered by a black blazer and matching black dress trousers. The pointy toes of his shoes always gleamed. Hermione chuckled slightly, and he glared at her.

"What?" he snapped, moving further into the room to throw himself down on the sofa which sat in the middle of the room.

"You look like a doll," she muttered, taking a seat behind the dining table and dragging a copy of '_Dark Curses and How To Counter-Act Them' _across the table toward her. Tom frowned and shrugged off his jacket, placing it over the arm of the sofa. He reached for a remote control and flicked a button carelessly. The fireplace roared into life at his command, and the lights in the room dimmed a little.

"I'm trying to read," Hermione fumed, gesturing to the lights.

Tom turned his head to look at her, an emotionless expression masking his face. "Like I care," he spat, getting to his feet. Hermione's stomach began to twist nervously - Tom was not the best person to enrage, even if she did enjoy talking back to _his Majesty. _He never retaliate, or pushed things too far though, he never beat her, or cursed her - it was very out of character.

The dark-haired boy stopped at the other end of the table and threw a menu at her. "Choose something, I'm hungry," he said, narrowing his eyes as he sat down opposite her.

"Salmon, the dish with new potatoes and whatever that green sauce is," she said, pushing the menu back to him. They had been here for so long, she knew the damn thing off by heart. "And a sticky toffee pudding, with custard. Oh, and a fruit salad for tomorrow."

"Fine," Tom muttered, reaching for the curved black phone that sat in the middle of the table. He dialed the number for room service and settled back into the chair. "Hello, room 502. Yeah, the suite. Can I get the salsa-verde salmon dish, no asparagus, a steak with watercress salad - rare, blue if you can - two sticky toffee puddings, a fruit salad and two bottles of Rioja. Tab, please. Thank you."

"Always so polite, people might actually believe that you're not a psychopath," Hermione quipped, curling her lip. Her mind registered something he had said. "No asparagus?"

"I've heard you order before," Tom replied, reaching out to take another book from the pile stacked on the table.

"I didn't realize you heard," Hermione said, quietly.

"Well, I did."

"Also - _two _bottles of wine, Tom?"

"Voldemort."

Hermione snorted and crossed her arms. "I don't think you deserve that title anymore, _Tom,_" she replied, smirking at him.

Tom's eyes glimmered dangerously in the low light as he glared at her, lips pressed together in a firm line. "Two bottles seemed appropriate seeing as you tend to drink like you don't want to live, _Hermione._"

"That's just my name, Tom, it's not an insult to me," she retorted, closing the book and resting her folded arms against the cover. "And so I like a drink, maybe I don't want to live?"

Tom sneered at her slightly, leaning back casually in his seat. "You're already dead, Miss Granger. Or had you forgotten?"

Hermione looked down at her forearms, trying not to let him see the tears that grew in her eyes. He was right - she was dead, to everyone else at least. Her friends, family...the only person she had right now was Tom, and she hated him beyond belief. "Shut up," she ground out, voice shaking slightly.

"Crying, again?" he said, pouting his lower lip out to mock her misery.

"I said, be quiet!" she shouted, looking back up at him. Her eyes were wide with anger, the tears started to recede back as she stared at her captor with utter hatred. "I have every right to cry what with all the bullshit you've put me through! I'm dead to everyone bar the person I deplore most - do you have any idea how that feels?"

"Yes, I'm in exactly the same situation," Tom remarked, stoically.

"No, you are not!" she yelled, losing control of her temper at his calmness. "You don't care about anyone, and no-one cares about you - so how can you possibly know what I feel like? I'm not with my beloved friends or my family, I'm with a psychotic monster who traps me indoors like a pet, who treats me like the dirt on his immaculate shoes, who used me to come back to life, for God's sake-"

"Oh, are you still going on about that? It was enjoyable for the both of us," Tom said, smirk firmly set in place as his eyes moved down her body, languorously. Hermione let out a noise of disgust and leant back into her chair, away from him.

"You're foul," she spat, turning her head away from him to stare at an inoffensive spot on the wall.

"Call me what you like, Hermione, we both you know loved that 'dream'," he switched to using a high pitched tone to imitate her. "_I want you to f-fuck me, Riddle. Hard as you like._"

Hermione's head snapped back to look at him, and she rose from her chair angrily. "I did not say that," she hissed. Tom opened his mouth to argue with her, but was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. She remained in the same spot, seething, as he sauntered to the door to retrieve their food from the bell-man. A cheerful, young red-head plodded into the room, pushing a fully-laden trolley in front of him. The way his freckles splattered across his face like spilled ink reminded her sorely of Ron - a heartache she did not need to remind herself of. The bell-boy smiled widely at her and pointed to a plate on the top shelf of the trolley.

"I'm guessing the salmon be yours, Miss?" he said, his thick Irish accent adding a playful melody to his words. Hermione smiled and nodded weakly, unable to bring herself to speak to the Ron lookalike. The red-head placed the dish in front of her, along with a tall-stemmed wine glass, before arranging Tom's items in a similar fashion. He uncorked one bottle of wine, and left the other red and the opener in the centre of the table.

"Two sticky toffees. Good choice, though I have to say, they aren't up to me Mam's standard. Toffee so sweet it'd curl your hai-" the bell-boy grinned widely, eyes focusing on Hermione's bushy mane. "Well, it might straighten yours."

Hermione laughed lightly, inhaling the beautiful scent of toffee as he set the pudding down in front of her. For a moment she was completely absorbed in the delicious smell and the strange second of happiness the Irish boy had brought her - it was a homely, warm feeling, like the first time she had walked into the Burrow, straight into the bosom of the Weasley matriarch. Her daze was broken as soon as Tom's handsome face appeared behind the bell-boy.

"Thank you. Leave the fruit on the counter, we'll be fine from here," he murmured, in a dark tone that contrasted greatly with the light, friendly voice of the red-head. The bell-boy nodded at him, ignorant of Tom's icy glare, and placed the big bowl of apples, kiwis and bananas on the island in the kitchenette, before tipping his hat to the couple and wheeling the trolley back into the hall.

"Have a pleasant night, folks!" he chirped, closing the door behind him. Hermione smiled: she could hear him whistling as he moved down the corridor. The sunny tune faded as the bell-boy turned out of the hall, leaving a deathly silence to fall between the two. They both sat back down in their seats, neither saying a word, or looking at each other. Hermione tucked into her food immediately, savouring the divine taste of the fish as it melted over her tongue. It had been almost an entire day without food, as she had forgotten to get anything else the night before, so her main course was disappearing at a rapid rate. Tom always ate slowly, cutting everything into small squares first, before stacking different flavours neatly on top of one another before finally eating them. It irritated Hermione to watch him eat - everything about him was so neat, immaculate, organized. She wished he would slip up, drop gravy on his shirt, or trip over a rug, something normal and meaningless that would prove to her that he was human. But the sign still hadn't arrived. Perfect bloody bastard.

Hermione reached forward to claim the bottle of wine, only to have Tom's long, pale fingers clamp down around her own. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes angrily.

"What?" she hissed.

"Let me pour it," he replied, tonelessly.

"Why?"

"Indulge me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, because...oh fine, just bloody do it, if you're so insistent," she huffed, letting go of the bottle and pushing her glass toward him. Tom smiled at her smugly, tipping the bottle gently. They both watched silently as the blood red liquid swirled into the glass, the only sound pervading the room was the glugging of the wine against the neck of the bottle. He stopped at the line which marked a large glass, before raising his eyebrow at her.

"Is a large okay, because I can always fill it right to the rim, if you'd prefer? Or you can just take the bottle?" he asked, innocently, waving said bottle in front of her.

"It's fine,_ thank you_," she said, icily, not hesitating to take a large gulp of wine the second she pulled it back. Tom tutted, rolling his eyes at her actions. "Be quiet."

"You drink like a Irish police captain," Tom remarked, frowning as he watched her. "It's really quite vulgar."

"Pfft, so punish me," Hermione said, raising the glass to her lips again.

"After dinner," came his reply.

Hermione spluttered slightly into her glass, red wine splashing back into her face. She quickly pressed a napkin to her mouth, eyes flicking up to view Tom, who was now cutting his food into elegant little pieces. "Excuse me?"

"You heard," he said, gazing at the streams oily blood that oozed from the cuts he made in his steak. Hermione's stomach turned at the sight. He was obviously playing around with her, trying to frighten her - well it wasn't going to work! Haughtily, she reached for the bottle in the middle of the table, pouring another large glass for herself, and then a far smaller one for him. He never raised his eyes to look at her, but slowly started to eat the neatly cut steak.

"Don't try to scare me, Tom," Hermione said, spearing another piece of potato with her fork. She noticed a small droplet of blood resting on his lower lip. "It doesn't work anymore."

There was a pause as they both chewed and swallowed their food, then simultaneously reached for their glasses of wine. Their eyes met as they raised their glasses to their lips and a strange tension hit Hermione. He was being too quiet. If he was angry, punching walls and throwing curses, she could deal with him, he was obvious. But this contemplative, silent mask was unpredictable. Tom placed the glass back down on the table, as did she, and gently wiped his lips with a napkin. From behind the cloth emerged a wide, toothy smile.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Hermione," he said, crumpling the napkin in his hand and placing it beside his dish. For a long moment he stared at her, his smile unmoving. A shiver ran down Hermione's spine when he finally turned his attention back to his food. "You've been a little sharp with me recently. Calling me 'Tom', talking back to me, insulting me, being a genuine nuisance."

"Then why do you keep me around?" she snapped. This had been a question plaguing her for weeks - he could kill her, obliviate her, abandon her - why did he keep her by his side at all times? It certainly wasn't for her company, that was a given. Tom Riddle certainly didn't associate with Muggleborns, and she was on the side of his enemy! It surprised her every day that she woke up alive and unscathed.

"I have my reasons," he replied, spearing another piece of steak, then cucumber, then tomato, as he did with every mouthful, then moving it between his lips. Hermione let out a groan of annoyance.

"Vague, Tom."

"Alwa-" he mumbled, swallowing his mouthful quickly. "Always calling me Tom. Always being disobedient."

"I'm not one of your servants, you'd do well to remember that," she replied, taking another swig of wine. Her head was beginning to feel lighter already, her confidence was growing, fear was leaving her. This was definitely a mistake, but the wine made it easier to defy her common sense.

"And I'm still Lord Voldemort, mudblood. You'd do well to remember that," the male snarled back, with sudden ferocity, his fists clenching around his cutlery so tightly that his knuckles stretched into a pale white colour. Hermione jumped slightly in her seat, dropping her fork accidentally into her plate. The metal chinked loudly against the china, and it caused a couple of droplets of sauce to flick over the table straight onto the white shirt Tom wore. Her eyes widened as the green oil trickled down his front, leaving an unsightly stain in its wake. As her eyes flicked to Tom, she noticed that he was glaring icily at her. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't quite bring any words to her lips. The intensity of his gaze was electric, Hermione could barely breathe, blink, move - until Tom suddenly kicked his chair back and got to his feet. The chair tipped over and clattered to the ground behind him, startling the girl, who sprang to a standing position.

Hermione darted forward and grabbed the serrated knife that lay beside her plate, raising it up to point at her enemy. A smirk flitted over Tom's lips and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his wand. Lazily, he flicked it, sending the knife flying from her hand to the other side of the room. As it was wrenched from her grasp, the blade sliced down the centre of her palm, causing blood to splatter across her arm, and the floor. Hermione let out a yelp of pain, clutching her stained hand tightly to her chest to stem the bleeding. She looked back up to see Tom advancing toward her, wand still resting in his hand.

"Tom, I-" she stammered out, holding up her uncut hand to ward him off, though her actions were entirely in vain.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione," he said, voice far too soft for her liking. He offered his hand to her, a small smile playing around his lips. "Give me your hand."

Hermione looked at him, confused, then back down at her hand. "I don't underst-"

"Give me your hand, please," he cut in, raising his eyebrows at her.

Hermione still didn't move, so he let out a sigh and grabbed her cut palm forcefully. The girl struggled against him but he didn't release his iron grip on her wrist, instead he pulled her closer, until she banged into his chest.

"Let go!" she gasped, terrified of what he was planning to do. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the onslaught of pain he was bound to bring - but none came. A strange, warm sensation danced over her palm, and she opened her eyes again to watch as the bloody slice began to close. After a moment, the warm feeling died down and Tom released her wrist from his hand.

"There we go," he muttered, taking a step back from her. Hermione glanced at her hand, then back up to Tom, confused.

"Why did you heal me?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Because you were making a mess," he replied, coldly, gesturing to the stain on the carpet, and then at his own body. Hermione's gaze traveled down to his stomach, where she noticed four large smudges of red blood. Her blood. Of course, he hadn't healed her out of kindness, or concern - but because her blood was tainting the purity of the room. She swallowed roughly, looking back into his eyes.

"You'd better change, _Voldemort. _Wouldn't want my dirty blood to poison you," she said, in a harsh tone.

"So eager to get me out of my clothes again?" he retorted, with a smirk. His hands moved up to the top button of his collar, and he began to unfasten it slowly.

Hermione blushed a violent shade of crimson and turned back to sit down at the table. "You're vile," she scoffed, reaching out again for her wine. Cold fingers curled around her shoulder as her own gripped the stem of her glass. She hadn't noticed him creep up behind her, but now she could feel his presence, warm against her back. He bent down slightly and leaned in to speak very close to her ear, close enough to send shivers down Hermione's spine as his breath tickled the skin of her neck.

"Is that what you like at the moment? _Vile_?" he hissed, lips skimming the rim of her ear.

"No, it is not!" she replied, voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Because I can be vile, if you'd like," he whispered, nipping her neck and smiling when he felt her shudder underneath him. He wound one hand into her curls and pulled them down, gently. "I can hurt you, if you'd like."

Hermione whimpered as a strange, yet familiar feeling of pleasure ran over her skin. His words, however, struck a chord in her mind. He could hurt her, he had had many opportunities over the four months they had been stuck together - but he had never cursed her, or laid a hand on her.

"You won't hurt me," she answered, in a hushed tone.

The hand in her hair gripped tighter, and he ceased his gentle kisses against her neck. "What makes you say that, Hermione? You know quite well what I am capable of."

"Because if you wanted to hurt me you would have done it already. Lord Voldemort doesn't hesitate to torture," she replied, groaning uncomfortably in his hands. "What's stopping you, Tom? Why not just kill me already?"

The man behind her stiffened and made to stand up straight again, pulling Hermione out of her seat by her hair, kicking the object away, then spinning her to face him. He shoved her roughly back against the table, then advanced to grab her once more. His hand slid around her shoulders, taking as much contact as he could, before tightening at the nape of her neck. Hermione yelped when he tugged downwards, forcing her to face to look up at his. His eyes were sparkling in anger, and his lip curled slightly giving him an expression of disgust.

"I told you I have my reasons for keeping you alive, for keeping you close. But do not think, for even a second that I would hesitate to hurt you," he said, now only an inch away from her face.

"I don't understand! What reasons? What could you possibly need me for? A hostage?"

"People think you're dead, why would I want a dead hostage?"

"Then - what?" she snapped, bringing her hands up to try and push his chest away. He didn't move an inch, but growled and yanked her hair again. It was a hard enough motion to cause Hermione to let out a loud scream, and struggle against him, beating her small fists against his pectorals. Tom pressed his body tightly against hers to try and halt her actions, growing angrier with each bang against his chest.

"Because, you ignorant little twit, by some strange circumstance you're of more value to me than I would personally like," he snarled, grabbing both her wrists in his free hand to still her beating. "You remember I told you that when my old body crumbled that piece of soul entered another item, it became a new horcrux?"

Hermione nodded as best she could in his hard grip, still confused as to what he was talking about.

"When I used you to bring myself from that locket, it created a temporary bond between our magic, one that broke as soon as I took physical form, of course. But by linking your magic to mine, you became significant, noticeable, almost a part of me for that brief moment in time." he continued. Hermione's face began to pale as she made sense of his words. He noticed her expression of horror and smirked happily. "That wandering piece of soul thought you significant, at least. It recognized you as something personal, something that belonged to me."

"So, I'm a - oh God," she gasped, her breath beginning to shake in panic.

"A horcrux, yes." With that, Tom released his grip and watched as the shocked girl fell to her knees in front of him. He didn't bother to move, but smiled down at her, chuckling darkly under his breath. "So you can see why it's in my best interest to keep you nearby. I didn't know this would be the outcome, at first I thought the soul would just occupy some random item nearby - but apparently not."

"No, no, no," Hermione mumbled, eyes wide with horror. A disturbing thought jumped to the forefront of her mind. "What if I were to kill myself? Would you die?"

Tom frowned, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "No, and unless you have a basilisk fang handy, then the piece of soul inside you won't die either. It would just move on to occupy something else."

Hermione cursed under her breath, tears springing to her eyes. There would be no point in taking her own life, the bastard still wouldn't die. "So, what, I'm supposed to just follow you around forever?"

Tom's smirk came back into play. "Quite." The girl let out a moan of distress and looked back up from the floor. She hadn't noted how close he was standing to her, and blushed when her eyes came level with his trousers. Tom chuckled again. "So, Hermione, as you're on your knees..."

He winked at her suggestively, and laughed deeply when she hurriedly clambered to her feet, clearly flustered by the situation. "Don't be such a crude, fuc-" she began, voice raised in anger.

"Tsk tsk," he tutted, waggling his finger at her. "Good girls don't swear. But then again, I suppose you're not really a _good girl_, are you Hermione?"

Heat radiated from her cheeks, as her mind flashed back to the 'dream'. He had called her 'good girl' then, the moment before she finally gave into him and allowed his hands to roam her body freely. Tom seemed to noticed the red of her cheeks, eyes glinting playfully.

"I can swear all I want, _bastard_."

"It'll only add to your punishment, _Hermione_," he replied, emphasizing her name as if it were as dirty as a curse.

Hermione glared at him, only now remembering his earlier comment. _'After dinner'._ What exactly was he planning? "Talk. You won't do anything, I'm your _bloody, fucking_, precious horcrux aren't I?" she snapped. Tom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"It's a piece of soul, Hermione, do you really think it cares about the object it resides within? Obviously not, or it wouldn't have entered a Mudblood. I was rather hoping that you'd play nice and obey my orders without the threat of pain. Forgive me for giving you the chance to live a relatively easy life, all circumstances considered." He strode two steps towards her and grabbed her to him by the collar of her shirt. "You deliberately defy me, provoke me and insult me. Did you really expect me to suffer such behaviour forever?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off when his other hand clamped down over her lips. He started to drag her by her collar, away from the table and towards their shared bedroom. Immediately her heart began to race and she fought back against him, eventually twisting out of his grip. She sprinted to the other side of the room, and entered the bathroom, not waiting to look where he was before she shut the door and locked it. With relief, Hermione let out a breath and sank to her knees, resting her forehead against the door. She had to find a way out, a weapon, something to stave Tom off. She turned, and surveyed the bathroom: there was absolutely nothing of use to her, just a few bottles of shampoo and some fluffy white towels.

"Hermione," his muffled voice came floating under the door. She froze and looked back at the white wood, her hand went to hold the lock in place instinctively. "You know quite well that I can just blow this door off its hinges with a simple spell. Save the damage, and just open it. Then come here, I won't hurt you."

A scoff left her lips, though her features fell into one of fear. He was right, he could easily get into the room by force. He'd probably be far angrier if he had to do that. Hermione hung her head and took in a deep breath. She needed to be brave now, pluck up her House's famed trait, and face her demon. Whatever he threw at her, she would be able to take it; she wouldn't scream, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. But there was no use hiding from the inevitable, from the thing she had spent so many nights dreading. It would be easier, less painful, to just -

"Now," his voice barked, louder than before.

Quietly, she moved forward and unlocked the door, jumping slightly as his figure was revealed, standing very close to the threshold with a Dionysian smile plastered on his handsome face. "Good girl, finally listening," he hissed, moving one hand to stroke the side of her head lovingly.

"Get off me, Tom," she replied, coldly.

"And there was me, thinking you were making an effort of self-improvement," he snapped back.

"I'm not the one who needs to change, Riddle. You're the psychopath." With that, Hermione pushed past him and started walking towards the bedroom. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"What over with?" came his reply. She turned on the spot to face him and observed his expression. He looked almost confused.

"You know what, Tom," she said, her tone emotionless.

"No, I don't. Hence why I was asking."

Hermione pointed angrily towards the bedroom door and snarled, "Your so-called 'punishment'. I'm not even surprised that you'd sink this low, Riddle. So can we just proceed, I'm tired."

"What do you m-," Tom trailed off before finally understanding her interpretation. "You think I'm threatening you with...that?"

"Of course you are, _Voldemort._ You've done it before, haven't you?"

Tom frowned, clearly dissatisfied. "I'm- I mean, I'm not going to rape you, Hermione."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, surprised. "Oh. Then wh-."

"You thought I was - no, of course not, you stupid girl. And I haven't done it before, your _dream_ was entirely consensual," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No it- well, I mean-" she stammered, flushing red with anger.

"_I want you to f-fuck me, Riddle. Hard as you like._"

"Stop saying that!" she shouted, clenching her fists at her sides.

"I'm only repeating your words, darling," he said, smirking once again. "It was an enjoyable experience, there's no need to cover that up."

"Well, maybe, but, but, you tricked me! You had a hidden agenda the whole time!"

"Oh, but Hermione, I enjoyed it so much that maybe next time there will be nothing to hide," he said, leaning one shoulder against the frame of the bathroom door.

"There won't bloody well be a next time, Riddle, you arse," she replied, indignantly.

"See, I'm not so sure. Sometimes, the way you stare at me...it can be quite telling," he said, in a teasing tone. He pushed himself off the wall and moved forwards. "Why don't you just give into your desires for once?"

"You are such a vain piece of sh-"

"Okay, how about this? We'll make a deal."

Hermione paused and raised an eyebrow, unsure of his intentions. "What deal?"

"You can either come quietly now, bend over the table and I will give you the proper punishment you deserve."

"Which is?"

"Fifteen strokes, of my belt, that is," he replied, tone too serious to be joking now. Hermione's eyes bulged in fear, gaze flickering down to look at the black leather strap that encircled his waist. "All forgotten, clean slate, after that. Be good and it won't happen again."

"R-right. And the other option?" she asked, weakly.

"Let me have you for one night. No struggling, no fighting me, just allow yourself to relax," he stated, bluntly. "I won't hurt you in any way, quite the opposite, in fact. Let me show you that your desires can be met, that I can be the one to make you moan and writhe and come until you can't think straight." His eyes raked over her body as he spoke, and she squirmed under the intense gaze, unsure of why his words were having such an effect on her. "I know what makes you wet, remember? In fact, I know that even speaking such filth is turning you on right now."

Hermione blushed and took her eyes to the floor, for fear of embarrassing herself further. "No it is not," she said, irritably.

Tom let out a deep chuckle. "Give yourself to me this evening, I will rescind your punishment-"

"Isn't one night with you punishment enough?" she snapped. Tom acknowledged her only with a glare, before continuing.

"And tomorrow evening, we will leave the hotel for dinner. Give you some fresh air, for once."

Hermione's face lit up as he finished his speech. "You'll let me go out?" she asked, smiling slightly. Tom nodded, curtly, and Hermione shut her eyes to think. If he let her out, there was a chance of escape - no wards, no locked doors, witnesses...and she would skip the painful-sounding punishment he seemed intent on giving. But sleeping with Riddle? "I'm not a whore, Tom."

"I know, Hermione. But you understand the offer is quite real. I want the chance to show you that I am what you desire, even if you won't admit it to yourself."

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at him. "You won't hurt me?" she said, suspiciously. "And, you won't do anything...strange?"

Tom laughed and nodded to her. "No, I will not hurt you. Not unless you ask me to, which you might, if I remember our last experience correctly."

"I-" Hermione paused and let out a deep sigh. It was her only chance, the only window of escape she could see at present. "Fine."

Tom's eyes shone greedily in the light of the fire as he approached her. He tucked a curl behind her ear and gently ran a long finger down her neck, until it came to rest on her chest. "Last chance, are you sure?" he hissed, leaning his head closer to hers until his lips brushed very softly over her own. Hermione gulped nervously and dared not even to breathe. His close presence, his smell, his fleeting touches, were intoxicating her senses. "Sure you wouldn't rather the bite of my belt on your sweet backside?"

Hermione shook her head and drew in a short breath. "N-no. I want to do this," she replied, shakily.

Tom smiled against her lips and his finger continued its journey sideways, to smooth over her clothed nipple. She let out a quiet gasp and goosebumps erupted over her skin. "What do you want, Hermione?" She remained wordless, only emitting small moans as he gently traced the hardening nub. "Tell me." Still, nothing. Tom frowned and pinched her harshly through her thin shirt, causing her to cry out. "Now."

"I-I want the second option," she ground out, letting out another yelp when he moved his head to bite her neck viciously.

"Not good enough, Granger."

"Ow! You said you wouldn't hurt me!" she said, angrily rubbing the skin of her neck as he drew back.

"You know nothing of pain if you think that hurt. Now say it."

"I will have one night with you, in return for the things you promised. Okay?" she hissed.

"No. Say 'I want you to fuck me, Tom'."

"I thought you didn't like being called Tom," she shot back, jumping slightly as he began moving his finger lower, and lower, until it snaked under the waistband of her jeans. Hermione groaned quietly as he pressed down over her pubic bone and softly circled the finger over her clitoris.

"Say it," he repeated. "Say it now, or I will rescind the offer and beat you until you scream my name anyway."

Hermione shuddered at the thought, at the feeling of his finger working her so gently. "I-I-" she stuttered.

"I knew you were getting wet, listening to me. I can tell. You've ruined this underwear," he said, enjoying every second of teasing her quite obviously.

"I want you to fuck me, Tom," she whispered, reluctantly. The dark-haired male smiled widely, flashing his straight, white teeth at her.

"Then let's begin."

_*)*)*)*_

_Woo. So, this story will be finished in two more chapters, with the final one being my entry for the 2014 April Challenge for GCTC. Yay! Next chapter is purely smut. Enjoy._


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